The Last Second
by xXxNever-Trust-A-DuckxXx
Summary: When the Southern Rebels attacked, Maxon threw himself in front of the bullet to save America. But what if he didn't? What if he was too late? A turn of events makes for a drastically different ending to this love story. (Warning: Character Death)
1. Chapter 1

"Don't. You. Dare." I scowled at America's crumbling expression. Her tears were not fooling me this time—she'd betrayed my trust one time too many. "Now you put on a smile, and you wear it to the last second."

She seemed to put herself back together, though the cracks in her composure oozed with brokenness. She painted on a smile—still breathtaking as ever. "That'll do. Don't let that slip until you leave the room. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her crystalline blue eyes saying everything her words didn't: _please, I love you. _

"I'll be glad when you're gone," I spat and turned to the crowd.

I greeted Kriss as she came to stand on my other side. I returned my gaze to the crowd just in time to see a guest with red around his head take out a gun and fire into the back of Celeste's skull. Panic exploded throughout the room.

I took in our situation amongst the havoc—a Southerner was in front of America, Kriss and I with a gun aimed at us.

I frantically told Kriss to get down, but when I went to assist her, another gunshot rang through the room. I whirled around and was met with America, in all her beauty, looking stunned. She slowly sank to the floor, and I noticed the crimson blossoming across the front of her ivory gown.

_No_! I heard someone yell, but as every eye turned and gasped, I realized the one yelling was me. America, my beautiful, precious America, lay on the floor of the stage in her own growing pool of blood.

I tried desperately to staunch the flow of blood. "You're going to be fine, Ames. Please!" But I knew she wasn't; the bullet would have pierced a lung. She didn't have long. Her glassy eyes drifted onto my face, her smile not slipping.

"I," she gasped.

"Shhh," I stroked her cheek. A tear leaked down my face. This was all my fault! If I hadn't turned away . . .

"I. . .I wore it." _What? _

I wanted to take it back—every word. _I'll be glad when you leave._

No, no, no! _I will cease to live if you leave me!_ My heart was shattering, the shards stabbing my chest.

"I wore it . . . to the last second." And then she went still, with a peaceful smile still adorning her face.

**Okay, so there's a poll now on my account. Should America make it? Go vote now!**


	2. Chapter 2

**You guys! This was supposed to be a one-shot! But you had to go make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, so here you go.**

**Thank you to: **

**MaryWayland,**

**dakotamo (,**

**Dondon33, **

**selectionprincess59,**

**Katiepie99,**

**Fangirl crazy407,**

**Mhpropp16,**

**luvmusic87,**

**Laurencharlottedavies,**

**diana22mi,**

**MaxonFiyeroFour,**

**fantasybookgirl, &**

**Selected For Dauntless**

**for reviewing/favoriting/following!**

**And, **

**MaryWayland,**

**dakotamo (,**

**Dondon33, **

**selectionprincess59,**

** are the culprits as to why there more chapters to this story. **

My mind went blank when America went still. I could faintly recall guards picking me up and dragging me to the nearest safe room.

A voice asked, "What about the girl?"

The reply sent me squandering into my own sorrow. "Leave her. She's too far gone." At that I slipped back into my half-awake stupor.

As the safe room doors slammed behind me, I slumped onto the ground. Suddenly a frail pair of arms wrapped themselves around me, filling me with the scent of lavender. _Mom_.

A lone tear traced the line of my cheekbone. I heard her whisper to the guards, "America?" I guessed they told her, because she only squeezed me tighter, mumbling, "Oh, Maxon."

At that point, I didn't care who else was in the room, or whether what I was doing was princely or not. I couldn't even be bothered by possible caning for not behaving properly. America, my bright, sweet, perfect America was gone. I buried my head into my mother's chest and sobbed.

The sound of broken glass being swept and walls being scrubbed was deafening. But all was silenced by a call from the Report room.

"Hey! I found someone! She's barely got a pulse!" Chaos ensued. Five guards rushed in to carry the sickly pale redhead to the hospital wing. The maids were in a frenzy, two in particular. Mary was frantic; asking everyone in sight for information. Lucy was hysterical. The only thing holding her back from the scene was the guard whose arms encased her. He whispered comforting words, but only just managed to keep his own hysteria under control.

A gurney met the crowd halfway to the medical wing, and the officers unloaded the girl onto the white sheets, making her appear even smaller. She was deathly pale, and as the nurses got a heart monitor hooked up, her heartbeat was slow and faint.

"She's fading fast!"

"Get her hooked up to the oxygen!"

"Ready the paddles!"

Nurses' chatter overwhelmed that of the audience, and they sped through the halls, trying desperately to stable her vitals. They disappeared around a corner, leaving the crowd of anxious palace workers in a stupor.

My mother set beside me on the bed, her face etched with sorrow. Not only had she lost the girl she saw as a daughter, but also her husband. King Clarkson was also found dead. Even with the bitterness, the caning, and the never being good enough, I did not wish my father dead. Now my mother and I comforted each other as a nurse bandaged my arm from an injury I can't remember having.

Suddenly the doors flew open, and in rushed a whole team of nurses around a gurney, yelling orders over the frantic beeping of the many machines. A flash of red hair, and I was up and after them, but sadly the staff was expecting this and I felt a sharp sting in my shoulder. One thought remained in my mind as the hospital faded to dark: _America_.

**Yes, yes, I did not kill the queen. I couldn't bear to take away America and both Maxon's parents. I did do away with the king though. He had to go.** **I enjoy constructive criticism, so review!**


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